


Strays

by merelyafigment, visionofblue (merelyafigment)



Series: Brushfires [2]
Category: Oz (TV)
Genre: Canon Divergence, M/M, with banter and popsicles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:40:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26558302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merelyafigment/pseuds/merelyafigment, https://archiveofourown.org/users/merelyafigment/pseuds/visionofblue
Summary: Miguel Alvarez continues to pester Ryan O'Reily helpfully in the hospital ward, and ponders his reasons for doing so. There's also a surprising amount of non-sexual sucking. (Sequel to"Buzzcut Season")
Relationships: Miguel Alvarez/Ryan O'Reily
Series: Brushfires [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1912360
Kudos: 18





	1. Of Allies and Alleys

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: terrible people said and did terrible things on this show. There will be many racist, misogynistic, and homophobic attitudes and slurs, and generally problematic and awful attitudes and language about many things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: A small part of this first chapter was actually written over a decade ago. I recently managed to find an unfinished snippet I posted elsewhere long ago. I'd always liked it, but it was just an unfinished scene, and I thought I'd never be able to turn it into anything. Fast forward many years to now, 2020: I realized it could work really well in the sequel to ["Buzzcut Season"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26319052) if I tweaked it. Given that all my old files were lost and my memory is terrible, there was possibly more to that unfinished snippet at the time which I never posted, but that's all gone, so this is what it is now. (Most of this is indeed newly written. The original snippet was under 800 words, after all.)

Miguel heard the familiar sound of someone vomiting before he saw it. Just another day on work detail in the hospital ward, really. He turned around, moving towards the noise without much thought. He saw the pale bald head of a patient bending off the side of a hospital bed, retching. It looked fucking painful.

Miguel also knew that particular bald head intimately, since he'd recently helped shave it and all. Wasn't something he'd forget, given that helping the man do it had felt sort of like trying to bathe a fucking cat. There had been a lot of hissing, spitting, and scratching, metaphorically speaking. It had been sort of fucking enjoyable, though, despite the Irishman trying every last drop of Miguel's patience at the time.

Now O'Reily was throwing up all over the floor with a splatter. (Instead of into a plastic receptacle or even a bedpan at least, of fucking course.) Miguel came close enough to see the pale hand tightly gripping the edge of the bed as O'Reily leaned over it, knuckles white. The heaving stopped, and Ryan sat upright, pulling himself up with effort that he was trying to hide. He mostly succeeded. Miguel was just used to the signs from working the ward.

"You done?" Miguel asked mildly. It was strange seeing the usually slick dangerous man shaky.

"Show's over." Ryan laid back in bed, bitter anger directed at Miguel to cover up his shake, because it was all he had left. Miguel was used to that from the guys in here, too. 

Miguel decided to let it slide in this case, with just a take-no-shit expression. The man had fucking cancer and chemo tearing through his body -- he deserved to be a little bit of an asshole. It was more of an excuse than he usually had. It was partially why Miguel had been so magnanimous when shaving the man's head the other day, despite the more-racist-asshole-than-usual bullshit being hurled in his direction from O'Reily's spiky defensiveness. That had been a tough day for the guy, too.

Miguel left O'Reily alone to compose himself for a minute, going to get something to clean up the puke. It was an ongoing argument whether shit like that fell under the domain of the guys on bedpan duty, or the ones on the mop and bucket brigade. But with something like this, if Miguel left it whoever was on duty would win the round anyway by taking his sweet fucking time getting around to it, leaving Miguel to fucking slip in it all day. They were probably still pissed at him about all of O'Reily's hair being everywhere the other day, too. 

Miguel detoured to get one of the little plastic kidney shaped containers that was actually meant to be puked in. When O'Reily had recently returned to the hospital ward, he was still bald as a baby and white as a ghost, but he had put his tough motherfucker mantle back on enough to cover up any inner pain or fear. He made the bald head look like a choice, even managed to make it look more menacing. Miguel could see the truth buried in the man's eyes, with their hard to pin down color -- grey-green or blue-ish, shifting like a storm. He was used to seeing a certain look in most of the tough guys injured in here. O'Reily managed it better than most. Possibly because it was O'Reily's fucking mind, not strength of body, that made him the most dangerous, and it was just as clear in those eyes that the scheming ruthless brain was still working just fine. Always a survivor, this Irish boy. 

It may have been another part of the reason Miguel was putting up with O'Reily's shit for now, pushing past all the other man's insulting objections to hang around and help him. Yeah, it was Miguel's job, sort of. He generally took his job seriously and did whatever was required of him without much complaint, but being a half-assed barber didn't really fall under his purview. Had it been some motherfucker Miguel disliked, he would have left him alone to deal with it. Well, he may have hung around to watch and laugh quietly if it was some motherfucker he really hated, but he definitely wouldn't have helped.

Miguel knew, though -- O'Reily might be laid low at the moment, but he'd be a force again eventually. Miguel was keeping an eye out to strengthen El Norte's position, and the partnership pickings were slim. The fucking Nazis were out for obvious reasons. Adebisi and his boys were generally a force, and they tended to play well with O'Reily. That crazy motherfucker Adebisi wasn't very steady, though. Guy had to be practically hog-tied during the riot, he lost so much control to his addiction. Miguel found him a little too reckless overall. There was the still-unknown new addition of Little Schibetta, but there was just something about the guy that bugged Miguel -- too cocky without the evidence he had the goods to back it up so far. And he seemed a little weak, almost. Miguel could already tell those two were circling each other and heading towards a clash.

O'Reily may be a lot of shit, including as untrustworthy as either of those other two bastards, but reckless he was not. He seemed calm, calculating, and fucking effective, actually. Once O'Reily was back, well, he might be a better choice to side with. Smart mouth aside (or maybe because of it), O'Reily's company irritated him less. If those other two idiots exploded and took each other out, Miguel and O'Reily would be part of what was left standing anyway.

Wasn't the only reason Miguel was helping, honestly. Maybe not even the main one, since working with him wasn't really on the table at the moment. But it was the easiest reason to focus on since the others were harder to pin down, like those storm-shifting eyes. He wasn't O'Reily -- his only question wasn't _what'll you give me for it_. 

Miguel just... wanted to be around and help. It didn't bother him that O'Reily was a little difficult to deal with at the moment. The man was interesting, too. Sharp, in mind and tongue. He'd managed to get a seat at the table during the riot despite being on his own. Slick motherfucker was the only one who'd managed that; the rest of them had bodies behind them. He may have pissed Miguel off a little during said riot, by not voting with him because nothing was in it for the Irishman, but even that had told Miguel something about the way the man operated, if nothing else.

Unlike O'Reily, though, if Miguel wanted to and _actually could_ help without it endangering him, he would. Simple. Didn't necessarily need an exchange. Not all the time, anyway. (A lot of the time, sure. He wasn't a priest-in-training or something. ) He wasn't used to the desire to help, maybe, but he'd learned that it was there. With the Father during the riot... Miguel couldn't do dick, then. Would've gotten his ass killed. But here, the stakes were lower. Maybe this didn't make up for that time he couldn't help, didn't even compare really, but still. Didn't know _entirely_ why he wanted to hang around bugging O'Reily by being helpful? Didn't matter. He could -- he did.

Miguel reached his destination and pulled himself out of his head, lightly tossing the container at a now pulled-together O'Reily. "Use that next time, I've got enough shit to clean up." 

Ryan caught it, giving Miguel a hard look as he set it down pointedly on the bedside table. "You get off more on cleaning shitty bedpans, right? I'll try not to interrupt you."

Yep, trying to be a hard ass again and jab at Miguel to cover his moment of weakness. Miguel just smirked as he kneeled down to clean up the puke with heavy, industrial paper towels. Lots of them. He left a couple for O'Reily to clean himself up with, though. Those the man didn't ignore at least, using the water by his bedside to rinse his mouth, too. At least he wasn't a gross motherfucker like some people. Him generally smelling better than Adebisi wasn't actually a factor in Miguel's contemplation of who would be best for El Norte to play nice with, couldn't be choosy about your bedfellows in here after all, but it was a refreshing bonus. 

"You're going to run out of bad bedpan jokes if you don't pace yourself there, O'Reily. You having fun being a hard ass? Or you want me to help you?" Miguel asked, equal parts biting and amused, as he stood back up.

"I'm fine. I can walk to the bathroom, and I may puke, but I don't shit my sheets. I don't need your help." O'Reily still just loved turning down his offers. Miguel understood that, too, though. Was just what you did in here. Not a hell of a lot of people offered assistance out of the kindness of their hearts, so taking it was generally a risky proposition that had to be weighed.

When O'Reily lashed out at him here, it mostly just reminded Miguel of a skinny scarred-up alley cat. A really nasty one that would come around sometimes for what you left out because it knew how to survive, plus it wanted the good stuff, but that would shred your ass if you got close. Miguel always thought those were the most fun to put scraps out for, though. Didn't know why.

Miguel laughed softly. "You want to keep being your asshole self, or you want a popsicle?" He knew it would help with the dehydration and mouth sores and shit from chemo. Dr. Nathan had mysteriously stocked them in the little freezer/fridge in the ward when O'Reily had been admitted.

Knowing the motivation behind it made It easier to not let O'Reily get to him. Everyone who wound up as a patient was always posturing and fucking with the staff to avoid seeming weak. O'Reily was actually being less of a dick than when he'd shaved his head. He didn't stop soon, then yeah, Miguel would have to stop being nice just to prove that he was a hard ass too. But for now, tossing around insults with the man was just entertaining.

O'Reily gave in a little at that. "Popsicle?" His suspicious look was really just another, milder taunt. "What do you want for it? You're still not giving me a sponge bath."

Miguel grinned slightly. Ryan may be an asshole, but yeah, he was definitely a fucking funny one. "You been thinking about that for days, haven't you? Sorry, baby, but it ain't how I get my kicks." Miguel kept the retort light, having fun playing. 

Ryan smirked instead of slipping back into full asshole mode like he maybe usually would. He probably needed the relief of an unserious moment. "Very funny. Sounds like _someone's_ been thinking about it, but it ain't me. I only dream about sponge baths from Miss Sally." 

If they didn't stop talking about sponge baths in the middle of the infirmary, somebody was probably going to notice. And possibly actually want one right now. Best to just let that one lie.

"I don't want nothing, O'Reily. It's my job to help cabrons like you, remember?" Miguel shrugged before his own small grin came out to play, too. "Besides, you attacked an Aryan shithead with a fucking lunch tray, and somehow still managed to end up on a vacation in here instead of the hole. Now _that_ \-- deserves a popsicle." Miguel pointed at Ryan in a congratulatory fashion, because seriously, that shit had been hilarious. Had to show the man some respect for that one. 

Miguel had never pegged O'Reily as much of a physical fighter, and the recent lunchroom scuffle hadn't really proven Miguel wrong, since he'd done nowhere near the damage Miguel would have. Had balls, though. Clever, too, grabbing something to hit with if you weren't necessarily a fighter. Apparently, if you backed O'Reily against the wall he'd at least try to throw himself into trouble. Ryan had earned a nasty little cut near his left temple from it, freshly cleaned and patched with a tiny butterfly bandaid. Shouldn't scar, but for the moment it added to his menacing look, rather than making him look more beat up. Yeah, it had to be the danger still lurking in his eyes that managed that, too.

"Yeah, well, I got moves. Motherfucker was annoying me." O'Reily seemed almost pleased, but there was something underneath. There was more to it than that, and Miguel knew what it was.

The action had shown everyone that O'Reily still wasn't one to be fucked with, which had clearly been the point. Miguel had already known that, but some motherfuckers in here could be real slow. Like the world's slowest Nazi (and they weren't a bright bunch to begin with) who had been disrespecting the Irishman, making comments about his cancer. O'Reily had been punted back to the hospital ward to finish his treatment after the fight, too. His return to Emcity had been pretty short.

"He was fucking with you because he thought you were weak." Miguel had kept his tone purposefully mild, making it clear it was an observation and not a dig, but still -- _yep, there it was_. O'Reily's narrowed gaze focused entirely on him, lethal no matter what the body was going through. Miguel decided to tell the truth. Wouldn't want O'Reily plotting Miguel's murder from his hospital bed or coming after him with one of those bedpans, after all. Miguel would've handled it either way, of course, but it just wasn't smart to start shit you didn't have to. "Was never your body that was dangerous, O'Reily. It's that fucking diabolical mind and stone cold heart of yours. Anyone with half a brain can see they haven't gone nowhere. But you know those Nazi pendejos, man. They don't even have two cells to rub together."

The gaze stayed calculating, but it changed. Something about it gave Miguel less of that little warning tingle of a possible knife at his back. It felt more like being evaluated now.

"I'm hearing a lot of talking, but I'm not seeing a popsicle." Was all O'Reily said, and there was more tease and less of a hard edge than ever.

Guess that meant, vomiting aside, he wanted it now.

Miguel scoffed, throwing off one retort before turning to go. "Keep being a dick and I'll eat it myself. Be patient, man, ain't like you got a busy schedule. Your ass can wait."

He was on his way to get it, though. He was definitely going to snag one for himself, too. He was being very nice lately, around O'Reily at least, and he wasn't a fucking Saint.

O'Reily eyed him with obvious curiosity when Miguel returned shortly with two popsicles instead of one, hopping onto the bed next to him. 

He told the truth again, with a another shrug, which he turned into a smooth toss of one the generic white-paper-wrapped mystery popsicles to O'Reily. "I deserve a treat after putting up with your bullshit."

"Looks like you've also decided you deserve a break there, Alvarez." O'Reily's observation had little venom left to it. Sure, there was some, but for him it was practically pleasant.

"I work hard." Miguel volleyed back as he opened the cheap frozen treat with a crinkle. "Plus, I fucking like my popsicles not melted into a puddle. Gotta eat it now."

"Jackpot -- grape. None of that orange crap." O'Reily commented as he unveiled his unmarked flavor. 

Damn, it was stupid and everything, but Miguel savored that first cold hard syrupy-flavored taste. It meant nothing, compared to everything else he was doing without, but it turned out he'd missed it.

"You're welcome, baby." Miguel's popsicle was cherry flavored, and he popped it out of his mouth long enough to talk. And to notice that Ryan was staring at him again. Wasn't that dangerous plotting look, though, just his usual intense cataloguing observation, so it should be fine.

Then the look fell away and Ryan was scoffing, like a dick, again. But it remained teasing, with a matching devilish light in O'Reily's eyes. It was as close to friendly as Miguel had ever experienced the man being. "Stop acting like you had any fucking control over random chance."

Miguel raised an eyebrow, reluctant to pull the delicious artificial flavor freezing his tongue out of his mouth again. They never got this shit in here. It was easier to give out pudding cups by the hundreds than frozen treats. He had to eventually stop savoring it, though. Messing around with O'Reily with words was enjoyable, too, in its own way. "What motherfucking chance? If you check the wrappers close enough, you can sort of see the color through 'em. Figured you'd like grape. Guess I was right." Miguel knew his smirk was cocky, but he had apparently pegged it correctly, after all.

"Jesus, how many of my popsicles have you eaten to learn that trick?" O'Reily's complaint was his last, for a minute anyway. His leaned his head back heavily against his pillow, eyes closing on a long blink, as he sucked on his popsicle.

Probably did feel good. Soothing maybe. Maybe the only thing he felt like having with the nausea. Or maybe it was just the taste of something rare. Miguel let him have his moment. Had his own popsicle to enjoy, after all.

O'Reily looked strangely peaceful, which Miguel found both weird and inexplicably nice to see. Ryan kept closing his eyes, his sharp silver tongue quiet for once with his lips wrapped around the frozen purple shape. When he leaned his head back, savoring, it made the arch of his pale throat look long and graceful, but still strong. Probably the lack of hair made such things more noticeable. Miguel caught himself watching, strangely hypnotized by the sneaky Irishman looking normal and relaxed for once. Not just relaxed -- relieved. Miguel should really stop staring at the man before Ryan started hissing at him again, or Miguel started to wonder himself why the fuck he was doing it. He decided it was time to defend himself, now that O'Reily had had his moment.

"I haven't touched your precious popsicles, O'Reily. They aren't mine." Fine, technically the other things he snatched from the hospital ward for fun or profit weren't his either, but this was different. Would've been fucked up to steal the man's one little pleasure when he seemed to be going through hell.

Ryan leveled a look at him. "You are aware you're touching one right now, right? The cherry red tongue and it being _in your hand_ kind of gives you away."

He was one to talk, given that Miguel could see hints of purplish color when Ryan spoke.

Miguel rolled his eyes. Did that a lot around O'Reily, it seemed, but probably because he was only half irritated. If he hadn't also been enjoying himself, he'd be getting pissed instead. "It's my first one. It's my delivery fee." He took another taste of his tithe before continuing. "I remember from when I was a kid. Never liked the orange ones, man, had to learn to avoid 'em."

There was another lull, and that was fine, too. Miguel was lying on the bed now, on top of the sheets, propped up sitting like O'Reily was in the bed beside him. Wasn't really looking at anything, just appreciating his snack and the moment to breathe. Miguel only looked over when the other man spoke.

"Bet your sister got you back for turning her into a cueball." Ryan sounded partially like he was musing to himself, but Miguel sort of guessed that was his way of continuing to talk without seeming overly engaged. "Or is she too sweet and innocent for that?"

That got the popsicle out of Miguel's mouth quickly, with an emphatic pop. "You can stop wondering about her right now. You ain't banging my sisters, O'Reily. Any of 'em. You even think about them for one second and I'll do something really unpleasant with your popsicle next time." Miguel kept his tone less threatening than his words, but he did level his popsicle at the man menacingly for emphasis. Well. As menacing as a dripping, partially eaten, bright red popsicle could be. Wasn't very. Good thing Miguel was pretty scary all on his own.

O'Reily raised an eyebrow, regarding him with amusement, since he wasn't as eager to stop eating his popsicle. He was sucking softly on the very end, probably only an inch of it in his mouth. It made the wet noises accompanying the sucking louder somehow. 

O'Reily finally stopped to reply after a moment, though. "Someone's a very protective brother." He sounded bemused. Not laughing yet, but like it was waiting right behind his tongue. "You've also got a dirty mind, boyo. Not what I was thinking about, I swear."

Like Miguel was stupid enough to believe anything Ryan O'Reily swore to, ever, without evidence.

"Ain't _my_ mind that's dirty!" Miguel objected on principle, mostly. Because really, it generally was pretty fucking filthy, especially now that he'd been trapped here awhile with just his hand. Just not in this case, because they were talking about his family. His family that O'Reily had better keep his charming manipulative ass away from. "You know what guys in here are usually thinking about when they start waxing fucking poetic about sweet innocence, man."

The laugh finally came out, just a little, as Ryan shook his head. "Nah, I was just wondering if you got kicked in the balls or not. Now that you bring it up, though..." O'Reily slid his popsicle back past his lips, trailing off.

It was a good thing Miguel could tell he was just joking with that last part, seemingly telling the truth about not thinking terrible shit about Miguel's family, given the way he sounded.

"Watch it, cabron." Miguel's own brief huff of laughter snuck out, too, though. "She ain't that sweet, trust me. She paid me back."

Ryan was waiting patiently for the information, seeming perfectly happy to quietly enjoy his soothing treat while watching Miguel. Miguel wondered how often people in here just spilled their words under that always watchful and interested gaze.

He wasn't one of them.

"I'm not telling you what she did, hermano. Ain't happening."

"That bad, huh?" Ryan's smile was in his eyes, crinkling up the corners, even as it was only barely tugging at his mouth.

"It was like, in two parts, man! There was the immediate shit, and then she like fucking waited. Years! Got me again out of nowhere." Miguel gestured with his popsicle again, and yeah, this time it dripped down the side of his hand.

He brought his hand to his mouth to chase it with his tongue, fast, before it even occurred to him to reach for the remaining clean paper towels. He didn't really think. Even this chemical cherry taste was precious in here. Plus it was racing down towards his arm and it would leave him sticky as hell. 

"Getting real intimate with your popsicle there, Alvarez. Should I leave you two alone?"

Miguel looked up into those fucking laughing Irish eyes. And then flipped them the bird casually with his free hand before returning to eating.

After a minute, he broke the silence. Only then did he really realize it had been sort of a comfortable quiet. "You gonna make me pay for your haircut? Was that your sneaky way of warning me or something?"

He was kidding, but it probably wouldn't hurt to feel the man out a little. Wouldn't be about the haircut, of course, if O'Reily decided to take a shot at him, but about the moment of vulnerability Miguel had been there for and not looked away from like he maybe should've. He had _known_ he should've at the time. That's what you were supposed to do in here -- fucking ignore everyone's pain or need, or those vulnerable moments, unless you were going to mock, use, or abuse them. He hadn't been able to bring himself to walk away, though.

O'Reily sort of looked like it hadn't occurred to him to hold any grudge over Miguel's previous intrusion in his business, as the man took a contemplative moment while focusing on his popsicle. "Why the fuck would I do that? I did this, not you. You just held the scissors because I can't be trusted with them, apparently."

Miguel cut in, even though he knew that the man wasn't done talking. "You can't even be trusted with a lunch tray, O'Reily."

"True." Ryan really grinned that time, not just a hint of one. It was as sharp and dangerous as his gaze could sometimes get, before it was gone. Hadn't been directed at Miguel, he knew that, as O'Reily's edges faded away some more and his voice was as lightly teasing as Miguel had ever heard it when he continued. "But seriously, if I fucked with you, who would bring me my popsicles?"

Miguel lost his chuckle in the cherry flavor. Yep, playful O'Reily was probably rare, too. But almost as fun. The talking part was getting weirdly comfortable, too. 

"I'm just fucking amazed you know how to share, O'Reily." When he finished talking, Miguel slurped his popsicle in emphasis, to illustrate he was referring to it. 

Miguel privately contemplated how that wasn't the only thing the man shared, though. He wondered how many people in here, who didn't have access to their files anyway, even knew O'Reily had a brother. A brother with some sort of story attached that Ryan hadn't wanted to elaborate on, but he'd let Miguel catch hint of that, too. There was also the moment the man stripped off his shedding hair, letting Miguel close.

"It's not called sharing when you take without asking, Alvarez. What fucked up kindergarten did you go to?" Ryan didn't sound upset about it, though, despite his always sharp remarks. He seemed like maybe he was having fun, too.

Miguel realized he hadn't really seen O'Reily do that before. Not up close, anyway. Him and Beecher had seemed to have a weird, albeit completely fucking high, camaraderie back in the day. But he'd never been like this with Miguel. 

It was yet another rare thing. Also possibly stolen, depending on how you looked at it, given that he'd sort of just kept pushing his way past O'Reily's denials of needing him around. But it was just for him right now. Like the rapidly disappearing popsicle melting against Miguel's tongue and making his fingers sticky.

O'Reily could be fucking vicious, though. With words, or schemes, or fucking lunch trays. If he'd really wanted to make Miguel back the fuck off, he would've. But he wasn't scratching or biting or anything. He was letting Miguel sit there, just like Miguel had decided that was where he wanted to be at the moment.

Maybe neither of them knew all of their own reasons. 

Or maybe he should stop fucking thinking and enjoy his damn popsicle.

"Less talking, more licking, O'Reily." Miguel joked back, not taking offense. Ryan clearly hadn't meant any.

It was Ryan who laughed into his popsicle that time, and it sounded more surprised and real than ever. "Nah, your mind's not fucking dirty at all, hermano."

Miguel's low chuckle joined the other man's, before both of them returned to eating. He realized, a second too late, that his previous statement may have gone a bit too far. Miguel _really_ enjoyed teasing, he was aware of this. His mouth got him into trouble, just like his Pop's. (Thankfully, not that much trouble.) Ryan could've taken the licking comment pretty fucking badly. Taken it as a challenge, or some sort of statement, and responded by lashing out, hitting Miguel with a tray, metaphorically speaking, to make a point. Miguel hadn't meant it any of those nasty insinuating ways, though. He was just having fun.

Apparently, he had been right and Ryan was, too. All he had done was make Miguel laugh and played along.

Yeah, it was a day full of rare surprises, all right.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: I'm still working on this series, and have more fics tentatively planned and in various stages of being written. At the moment I'm enjoying writing it, whether there's much interest in it or not, apparently.


	2. Of Fears and Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another day, another popsicle. And Ryan's take on all that sucking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: terrible people said and did terrible things on this show. There will be many racist, misogynistic, and homophobic attitudes and slurs, and generally problematic and awful attitudes and language about many things. This part also includes some internalized homophobia and Ryan's less than enlightened views of breast cancer.

Ryan O'Reily may have been in a hospital bed, but he wasn't dead. He was doing his best to fucking ignore the tiny whispered _yet_ that sometimes followed that sentence in his head. That little whisper may have been an occasional occurence even before the cancer, since Ryan hadn't ever led a cushy life of assured safety. Fuck, he'd never had any safety, really, no matter how much he tried to scrape something together, wherever he was. 

He still had his mind (if not his fucking hair or his fucking lunch half the time with this nausea bullshit) and he still kept his wits about him. He could still see the patterns of this place, even from his current position in the hospital ward -- what had happened, and what likely would soon. 

So, Ryan was not surprised when Alvarez swung by the next day. He'd known it was time for the man's work detail. Routine may be a dull never-ending grind, but it was helpfully predictable that way. 

Ryan had watched him stride by, right around the time the Latino would've first arrived for duty. But since Ryan was pretty low maintenance, not being an actual invalid and all, Alvarez had kept walking. He'd met Ryan's eyes, though. Brief and steady, in what passed for a non-antagonistic greeting. People didn't really do the 'nice to see you' thing in here, unless with their own family, crew, or very close allies. The smallest inclination of their heads, not even a nod, that had passed between him and Alvarez was actually fairly polite and conveyed as close as one got to that message. After that quick hello of a sorts, Ryan had clocked Alvarez's dark gaze sweeping over him every time the man passed by while going about his work. Alvarez was clearly checking if he needed anything without asking, but since Ryan generally didn't, he gave no sign which would've called the man over. 

Ryan also wasn't surprised when Alvarez drifted directly towards Ryan's bed later in his shift to ask if he wanted another popsicle, despite never having been given that sign. 

Ryan wasn't surprised at himself for answering yes, even when part of him knew he should maybe say no. He wanted the rarity of the popsicle. His nausea wasn't bad today, his mouth felt better, but it might still help. Plus, it was his only fucking chance to get one in here. 

He wanted the company, too. 

Ryan had allowed himself a couple days of  
the imaginary safety offered by denial after Alvarez had first butted into his business, and for all intents-and-purposes _run his fucking fingers_ through Ryan's hair before it was gone. (A couple days of easy-living denial, or a couple decades, really, depending on how you fucking looked at it. And Ryan was unfortunately looking at everything differently now.) But that shit was done now. Ryan needed to strip down to the essentials to claw his way through this, and that denial... he was leaving it behind. 

It was harder to ignore so many things when you were stripped bare to face death. Sure, he'd faced death before, enough to become passing acquaintances. He'd taken beatings, and even fucking bullets, but this was different. This came to him out of nowhere, not one of the recognizable dangers of _his_ life. (People like his Ma, maybe, but not him.) He'd tried to see its angles, to understand it, and how it had fucking nabbed him where so many had missed. Like if he could just pin it on a reason, it would make any fucking difference. (It didn't.) Like if he just shouted his bullshit justifications and denials at Gloria, he'd be any less screwed. (He wasn't.) 

As if he'd done something to deserve it. (That was still up for debate. But that was a debate he didn't plan on having. Fuck that. He was tired.) 

Knew now, that wasn't how it worked. It had been worse, knowing his affliction with this chick's disease couldn't be manipulated or avoided. It had made him lash out a little, sure. 

Ryan wasn't lashing out any more. All his fucking struggle was needed elsewhere. 

Something else he was having trouble avoiding with his newly recalibrated view of life was lying in a bed right next to his now, because he'd fucking said _yes_ when it had asked -- Miguel Alvarez, wearing his scrubs and lying on top of sheets he had changed, had joined Ryan to enjoy his popsicle delivery fee again. 

Ryan knew _this_ was why the man hadn't stopped by until well into his shift. He'd wanted to take a break here. With Ryan. Miguel didn't say as much, and even Ryan couldn't be entirely sure of how aware Alvarez was of his own motivations. But Ryan knew. Because he wasn't dead, and he could still see more of the way things moved in here, and why, than most people could. 

Ryan kept closing his eyes, leaning his head back while eating his own popsicle. The pillow still felt different against his bare scalp. Cooler and cleaner, almost. A mix of fucking strange and nice. He sucked on grape, so fucking cold, but he didn't stop. It didn't trigger the nausea. Maybe even helped keep it at bay a little, the cold moisture in his mouth. 

He was also taking a break, from everything. He was taking a break from his fucking self. 

A break with Miguel Fucking Alvarez, who was proving to be unexpectedly thoughtful company. Hell, _good_ company. Ryan may have appreciated the few perks of the hospital ward -- getting away from the grind and all the other motherfuckers in Em City chief among them, but it turned out that Alvarez? Him, Ryan was forced to realize now that they were more isolated together, Ryan didn't mind being around. 

That is, when Miguel wasn't thoughtlessly being a fucking cocktease, which he was unfortunately doing flawlessly at the moment. Bastard apparently had no shame or self-awareness when it came to certain shit, like his penchant for sucking on things brazenly. Or maybe Alvarez was just that cocky and arrogant when it came to people looking at him, so used to it that he didn't notice. Whatever it was, Miguel had not a care in the world for how he wrapped his lips around the long suggestive shape, taking in as much as he wanted because he was focused on the flavor. 

Yesterday, with the first taste of his own popsicle, Ryan had closed his eyes, leaned back, and savored it as well. That rare relief and taste of the outside, of childhood, of a moment for himself. Plus, it did feel nice instead of shitty. Today, though, the reason Ryan kept closing his eyes wasn't because of how fucking relaxed and sleepy he was. That's probably how it would seem, but in reality he just fucking had to stop _looking_ at Miguel. His gaze had caught on Miguel's mouth wrapped around that cherry red popsicle. Again. It had happened yesterday, too. At least today Alvarez wasn't literally licking traces of melted popsicle off of his own skin right in front of Ryan. Fuck, Ryan could still remember that -- the little swipes of Miguel's darting thoughtless tongue -- and it wasn't just because he had a good memory, and every day was the same in here so the little differences stood out. 

Something ignited inside him, then and now. A curling heat lurking amidst all the unpleasant fear, weakness, and illness Ryan was trying to fight through. Since he was apparently on a tear of admitting shit to himself, he should probably cop to the embers springing into existence when Miguel had stood so close and fucking insisted on helping with his hair. (And he'd made that whole shitty experience somehow less shitty, too.) 

He wanted to blame his dick. But he couldn't entirely, since it wasn't really feeling like itself all the time with everything he was going through. 

Miguel wasn't making him hard, wasn't making the blood rush south where he could place the blame. Nothing was doing that entirely reliably at the moment, not even Gloria's sure caring touch when she was checking him out with all her quiet concern. 

No, it wasn't really his dick. But Miguel was turning him on in some weird way anyway. Starting something up inside. 

Hard dick or not, Ryan was craving so many things. Touch. Affection. Gloria. And now... 

Unfortunately, with the blood being in his brain and all, he could hear the familiar shitty old voice in his head that may have almost sounded like shitty old Seamus, and it really wanted to shout about not being a fag. To cover the weakness. To make people back off and leave him alone. To make even himself run away and hide in fear, like a kid scrambling under a bed away from a swinging belt, or an ass running from a swinging dick in here. 

Ryan had pretty much fucking had it with fear lately, though. He hated it, and he had more pressing ones at the moment. Like if he'd be alive long enough to ever have hair again, or feel less like crap, or fight his way back into the kitchen and his old place. 

If he'd ever be out in the sun again. 

He hadn't been able to admit even to Gloria what had really been running through his head when he'd received his diagnosis and all his fears had surged up to try to strangle his ass. He wasn't stupid. He knew why his mind went _there_ first, right after 'chick's disease'. 

If he hadn't had a stray thought or two. Or a touch or two, over long drunk and high years in and out of trouble and places like this. 

Or the sudden urge to pull that frozen fucking stick out of Miguel's mouth and take the cherry flavor right off his cooled tongue... 

...well. That fear had been first in line, ripping through him at the news he had a chick's cancer for a _reason_. He knew. He'd never fucking admitted it to any-fucking-one. (Cyril had maybe picked up on it, back in the day. But he'd never said anything about it, protecting Ryan without thought, probably. Ryan would never know for sure now, because all that was lost with everything else.) But Ryan always knew -- the reason he clung to the literal truth of 'I've never _taken it up the ass_ '. 

Instead of I've never... 

Fuck. 

If he'd never thought about a guy at all. It was rare. But it had been curled there, through all his father's beatings, all the danger over signs of weakness. Mostly drowned out by his very sincere love of getting lost in a warm wet tight pussy and a great pair of tits. 

Mostly. He knew how to ignore things that weren't helpful. 

Mostly. 

But he couldn't _always_ pretend it wasn't there. 

Right there, inside, with the feeling Miguel Fucking Alvarez was stoking by sucking on his goddamn popsicle right next to him, talking to him like he gave half a fuck for no discernible reason, and being pretty damn interesting while doing it. 

By touching him days ago, and reminding him of the brushfires Gloria's touch had sent racing through him. 

Going through hell, this new kind of hell he wasn't used to from running towards trouble and fighting for his slice of the world, had some annoying side effects. Worse than vomiting and hair loss. 

Or better, maybe. 

His worldview had shifted a little. Every little thing seemed that much more precious, or some dumb bullshit like that. He could feel the permanent loss of everything waiting right there over his shoulder, closer than ever. He burned to hang on with tooth and nail to every little good thing he could. To keep fucking going. Living. When everything wanted him dead. 

He couldn't stop thinking about things he wanted. Things he felt. Things he _wanted_ to feel. (Things he never had.) All that shit he had been ignoring to focus on a different kind of survival before. 

Fresh air. Sun on his face. Skin touching his, bringing that same warmth. Feeling like someone _cared_ if he died or if he lived. Blood pumping in his heart. _Wanting things_ , yeah. Worse than ever before. 

And he was more unable to ignore them than ever before, too. 

Fuck. He was weak in so many ways right now. But that still-pumping blood, the feelings stirring in his veins, those felt strong. Stronger than anything else. Made him feel alive in spite of all the shit thrown at him. 

He already had the fucking cancer, didn't he? And he was thrashing his hardest to kick its ass. Even if everybody was wrong and maybe it was punishment for this part of him (or you know, the other parts of him, that ground glass into food, destroyed things including his own brother, and landed him in here in the first place) -- he was already being punished, right? He was paying the price, even without giving in to this one thing. So why not give the fuck in to temptation? He knew how good it could feel. If you're already paying, might as well get what you paid for. 

He'd always gone after everything else he wanted, relentless and sure. Why keep holding himself back from this one thing? If he was already damned, why not drain every last sin dry that he could? 

Where had denial gotten him? Bullet in the chest. Locked up. Bald and full of poison. Alone. Something wasn't working too well for him. He was tired of a lot of shit. Exhausted, down to his bones. He wanted something better... He wanted someone who made him feel something better. 

It was harder to ignore that it wasn't _just_ Gloria. Sixty-some percent of fucks with this were alive after ten years. He was stuck here for eleven, best case scenario. He might never leave here alive. This could be all he had for over a decade, best case. Whether it was about contact, or only about just having some company, someone he maybe wanted around in some way was right there in the fucking shadows with him, longing for sun, too. Why not fucking face it? 

Fucking popsicles. 

Fucking smart mouth. 

Fucking... keeping him company. Enjoying _his_ company. And that sort of felt like the warmth of the sun, too. 

Fuck. 

** 

It was a weird dream, and actually being aware that it was a dream didn't make it any less fucking weird. 

Ryan was on a beach, with the sun beating down on him. He could enjoy that, at least. Couldn't feel its warmth, though, as he swung between being too hot and too cold -- and seriously, it would've been nicer if he weren't wearing the damn loose pajama bottoms he wore in the ward. 

Yeah, he remembered he should be in the hospital ward, sort of. It was hazy, but the mermaid splashing around down by the waterline looked like Gloria, so that helped remind him, probably. 

Didn't fucking sound like Gloria. The voice coming out of her mouth sounded low and raspy and a bit too fucking male. Ryan couldn't move from where he was sitting farther up the beach, and the whole weird vibe wasn't making him try too hard to get to her either. She seemed fine by herself. Beautiful. Happy. Stupid bikini top was covering what could've maybe distracted him from the voice. 

He wasn't looking at the walrus near him, just listening to it speak. Because that's where Gloria's actual voice was coming from. 

Then, thank fucking Christ, everything shifted and he let it go. The ground under his ass felt less like sand, despite still being lumpy, and it was dark and raining. He could feel it this time, wet drops on his bare skin. It felt good, at least. 

That fucked up mermaid voice was still talking, though, and he couldn't understand what it was saying. Couldn't really see anything clearly, as it faded and darkened. Could still feel the rain, but it lessened. Not covering his skin so much as focusing right on his chest. 

Then it was all gone, and his eyes were closed, and _motherfucking shit_ something was dripping on him. Wasn't dreaming now. He was fully awake. 

His eyes opened, and he was very grateful his instincts kicked right the fuck in. 

Miguel Alvarez. Standing above him. Hospital ward. Ryan struck, wrapping a restraining hand around the other man's wrist, which at least was nowhere near touching Ryan. It was holding a wash cloth, though. And fucking dripping it on him. But at least it was from a bit of a distance above him. 

"What the fuck are you doing, Alvarez?" Cancer, chemo, probabilities of outcomes, none of it mattered when he could still make his voice sound that hard and deadly. 

"Buenas tardes, baby. Que tal?" Alvarez didn't look too scared, unfortunately. He maybe looked a little amused. He was staying still, though, not fighting Ryan's grip around his wrist. 

Ryan was too pissed, and needed to figure out what the fuck was going on too quickly, to note how the flesh his hand was wrapped around felt. 

Mostly. 

Warm. Strong. Damp. Ryan had thought only Gloria resting her hand on his (or Miguel's fingers carding through the last of his hair and deftly moving over his scalp, some fucking annoying and not at all helpful part of his brain reminded) could start that taste of fire racing over his skin. This was a really shitty time to discover that touching someone else felt good, too, though. Like a little echo of the heat of being touched. Another ember. 

Shit. Not helpful. Not useful. Focus. 

"Are you going to explain yourself, or am I going to have to start swinging?" He was all threat, no patience. 

At least Alvarez didn't roll his fucking eyes again. Would've had to throw that punch. 

"Calm down, hermano." Miguel's usual amusement was entirely stripped away from him as fast as Ryan had woken up -- his voice went calm and steady, while his wrist stayed trapped willingly in Ryan's hand. Alvarez wasn't showing fear, but he wasn't flippant anymore. Didn't come across as threatening either. "Wasn't trying to start anything." He earnestly explained. His shoulders rolled the smallest amount in a shrug, which with his hold on Miguel, Ryan felt it as much saw. "Just playing. Thought maybe you'd dream you were outside in the rain or under a waterfall or something." 

"Are you high?!" Ryan voiced his displeasure and disbelief pretty strongly, but really, Alvarez could very well have been. He seemed sober a lot more since he was running things with the Latinos, but Ryan knew he partook more in the past. 

"Nah, unfortunately, nope." Alvarez still wasn't breaking Ryan's hold on his wrist, when he _should've_ chosen to angrily fight it to show Ryan he wasn't a pushover or something. It was probably something like a subtle admission of being the one at fault. 

The wash cloth was still dripping on him. Ryan turned a possible shiver at the droplets hitting his bare chest into movement to hide it. He let Miguel's wrist (his warm skin) go and smacked his hand away. 

"Get the fuck off me." It was more disgruntled and slightly less deadly than it could've been. Those brown eyes, _Jesus they were dark when they stared right at you_ , didn't look like they were laughing at him. Not entirely apologetic, either, but Ryan didn't get the sense Alvarez had actually been trying to piss him off or mess with him. 

"Didn't touch you. Only dripped on you." Alvarez clarified, and his calm demeanor which was just absorbing Ryan's irritation rather than serving it right back like he usually would have was another sign Ryan wasn't being played with. "Was just bored, hermano. Thought I'd give you something nice to dream about." 

Sometimes, when Ryan read his travel guides and brochures for anywhere-but-fucking-here before bed, he was able to dream of those places. Maybe that was why he sort of understood and followed what Miguel had been trying to do. Alvarez _had_ been trying to give him something, maybe, that would filter through his sleeping senses as a piece of the world outside of endless stone and steel. The only time he could have it, could trick his brain into believing. Like with the travelogues. Warm water from cloth turning into splattering rain. And it had fucking worked. 

That's what he saw in those deep eyes now full of stillness rather than amused taunt. Alvarez may have been bored, but maybe he had been wondering if he could give Ryan a taste of escape. Like he knew. He was just as trapped in here, so he probably did. 

Miguel continued to explain himself, like maybe he also finally fucking realized he owed Ryan that. "Just the water, man. Wouldn't lay a finger on you while you were napping." The way the strange and frustrating fucker said it, still steady and without the usual playful melodic roll to his repeated assurances, Ryan actually believed him. 

"Don't ever fucking try it." The words shoved themselves out of his throat, icier than ever. He wasn't shivering now. His spine was part of that steel and stone around them, as the reminder of how fucking vulnerable he was when he was sleeping made its presence known in his bones. 

Something in Alvarez shifted, like he felt it, too. "I wasn't thinking. I wouldn't do that shit." And it did kind of sound like that vulnerability hadn't actually occurred to him. 

Like maybe he'd been bored and thinking about missing waterfalls and rain, instead. 

The man was too proud to apologize, but Ryan could read between the lines like a fucking scholar, and in here? That was one in all but name. 

"You woke up right away. Reflexes ain't bad, O'Reily." Alvarez physically backed up a step, dropping the sopping cloth into the tub of soapy water he picked up from where it had been resting by Ryan's feet. More unspoken acknowledgement that he'd overstepped. 

"Don't get any ideas there, hermano. No fucking touching me when I'm awake, either." His tone was milder than his words, his own version of backing up from his initial startled anger. Ryan also didn't generally _accept_ apologies, and that was as much as the other man was going to get, too. 

Deep down, part of him objected to his own statement. Part of him wanted the exact opposite. He told it to shut the fuck up for a minute. 

"Didn't even get your shirt wet, since you're sleeping without one and all." Miguel pointed out, also far more mildly, his usual joyful teasing dampened. Yeah, it was probably regret, if either of them felt that very often. 

"How I nap is my business." He'd been hot, like sweltering, even in the thin hospital gown. (Miguel had even said _shirt_ rather than gown. The man could be careful when he tried, apparently.) Now Ryan was cold, even with his loose pajama pants still on, under the sheets pulled low around his waist. 

Alvarez had started occasionally depositing a small supply of paper towels by Ryan's bedside, without saying why. Ryan could guess, given that it had started after the fucking puking. Even though Ryan wasn't vomiting on the floor anymore. (That little kidney-shaped container was always there now, too.) Alvarez set the tub down long enough again to grab some, reaching out to Ryan's damp chest before stopping himself. Ryan didn't have a chance to do anything but observe the automatic movement and Miguel's unreadable expression before Alvarez handed them to Ryan to quickly dry himself off instead. He might've just thought Ryan would get annoyed with him for cleaning him up when Ryan could sure as hell do it himself. Alvarez's face could shift between expressive and not pretty easily. 

The voice from his dream, coming out of the wrong mouth -- he knew it now, and it was amazing he hadn't known it immediately in his dream, given how distinct it was. He narrowed his eyes at the man. "Were you fucking yapping at me trying to wake me up?" 

Miguel was putting up with his attitude, again, most likely because he'd realized his error. "Nah. Was just dripping on you. It was dumb, but I meant it about the waterfall, man. Didn't want to interrupt your dream." 

"My dreams are fucked." The anger in Ryan's sigh was no longer directed at Miguel. "No waterfalls either." 

"Sorry, hermano." _That_ he apologized for, with another, deeper shrug. Something that wasn't his fault. Of course. 

Ryan finally fully registered the tub Miguel was holding again and why he would have it. That was the sponge bath stuff. His eyes narrowed again, and they were harder this time. "Ain't happening." 

Yeah, the part of him that really objected to the words coming out of his own mouth -- and started wondering what those hands would feel like, damp and moving over his bare skin -- could continue to shut the fuck up right now, thanks. Not here, not now. Not yet. 

It would be a fucking disaster. There may or may not have been something lurking somewhere in the occasional watchful look sparking in brown eyes. Ryan was starting to have some suspicions about what resided in the other man's subconscious. But what Ryan definitely fucking wasn't? Adebisi or fucking Schillinger -- he had zero interest in fucking around with an unwilling participant. It was dangerous and downright stupid for one thing (especially with _the fucking leader of the Latinos_ , for Christ's sake), but that wasn't even at the top of his list. Or on his list at all. His dick, even when at its most active, did not get up for that shit. Just the thought of Miguel being reluctant or anything other than his cocky, teasing, and intense self would probably put it in a fucking coma. 

Alvarez hadn't ever read as the type to be interested, either, like at fucking all. The man never even had to tell the cocksuckers in here to stay away from his dick. It just sort of translated perfectly from his disinterested attitude. 

And yet. He was here. And there was that something, maybe, in those eyes on Ryan every once in a while. Plus, there was fucking desperation, which Miguel was clearly experiencing. It changed hearts, minds, and dicks, occasionally. One thing Ryan did know was that Alvarez had seemed really fucking horny lately, even for someone in here. An uptick in filthy musings about sex spilling from Miguel's mouth. The whole harassing a secretary and getting thrown in the hole for a very brief period, which Ryan had nonetheless heard about. That little part of Ryan's brain proved helpful for once, sort of, when it took note of how the man's clear desperation might work in his favor. Ryan was maybe considering at least checking. But he'd do it carefully and slowly. And without any fucking sponge baths.

He had time, after all. (That's what he was fighting for, anyway.) 

And until then, there was this -- Alvarez just hanging around. Which surprisingly, and maybe it was the killer chemicals talking or something -- was not fucking bad so far, in and of itself. 

Alvarez may have just given him a rude awakening, but he'd done it because he'd been trying to give Ryan _pleasant dreams_ for fuck's sake. That Miguel was not like the other fucks in here, in a myriad of ways, was quickly becoming apparent to Ryan. 

Miguel caught that Ryan had been referring to the sponge bath stuff, and let out a short huff of laughter. "You think you're still dreaming or something? Ain't for you, O'Reily. You can use the shower." 

"I'm pretty sure I'm the one that keeps telling you that, yet you keep showing up at my bed with your little tub." Ryan pointed out with a smirk. 

There was indeed a shower room in the hospital ward, and it was more private than the one in Emcity. Four solid walls, a door that locked, and everything. It was for the patients like him that were ambulatory. Occasionally the staff blocked their use of it, locking them out when they got sweaty or messy working and wanted to clean up. It was mostly the outside staff that did that, as far as Ryan knew. He wasn't going to ask if Miguel had snuck a shower here away from the prying eyes of Em City. 

Miguel smoothly motioned his head to indicate the row of beds across from Ryan. Probably at the one bed in front of him, couple spots over, with the very unmoving patient hooked up to a lot of shit that was steadily beeping. "Never gonna be here for you, hermano. You can take care of yourself, remember? I prefer the unconcious ones, anyway." Miguel grimaced a little. 

"Never would have pegged you as a corpse fucker, Alvarez." Ryan pretended he was being contemplative, but really, even a second grader could tell he was fucking with Miguel. 

The look that earned him made it clear he was letting Ryan have that one without much of a fight. There were a lot of small coded apologies flowing from the other man, and it was almost making Ryan feel better. Almost. Hard to shake that shitty feeling of not even being able to sleep easily in here, even if Alvarez hadn't meant to trigger it. 

"See? You're the one with the dirty fucking mind." Miguel merely lightly countered instead. "I'm not a sick freak. I like my bodies warm, awake, and begging papi for more. They gotta be moaning my name, baby." There was the smallest smooth swivel of hips and a fluid gesture of Miguel's hands accompanying his words, but he mostly held back. 

Yeah, Ryan was probably going to file that little unnecessarily silky speech into Miguel's horny clue folder, as he let Miguel continue to talk. For the first time, he was pretty happy his dick was tired from what his body was going through, too. Because Miguel's voice saying that shit, now that Ryan was playing less ignorant with himself, could've made something stir. 

"Nah, man. Honestly? Keeps 'em from talking shit that makes me want to punch 'em when I have to bathe them. Want to get to him before he's able to wake up." Miguel had snapped out of lewd reverie faster than usual, swinging back to being more serious. Ryan filed that away, too. Alvarez didn't usually do that, normally leaning into dirty talk and innuendo with a certain glee. It was almost like he'd caught himself, or his brain had tripped over something. 

Also, no fucking way was he ever calling Alvarez _papi_. No matter where his blood, in his dick or in his heart, led him. (Gloria was free to call Ryan papi all she wanted. He'd maybe imagine that when his dick woke back up from its nap.) 

"Funny. You seem to like it when I talk shit." Ryan let it slip out purposefully, let it take all the harsh posturing out of him, until he was sounding almost friendly. 

He wasn't testing Miguel, wasn't quite trying to feel him out. Yet. But yeah, he was starting to consider it. 

Then in through the doors dividing the ward into sections swung his angel. To distract him from the popsicle fellating, water dripping devil. 

Gloria got that little line of tension between her eyes as she took quick no-nonsense strides to his bedside. "Ryan? Has the fatigue gotten worse?" She was looking him over, all beautiful concern, but you know, professional-like. Because she took her job seriously. There was that tiny hint of gentleness with him, though. He could feel it as much as he could feel her fingers lightly resting on his arm. "You were doing just fine with all day to day activities, including showering. Has something changed? Why wasn't I informed?" 

Her gaze slid to Alvarez, clearly on sponge-bathing duty, showing that was what had sparked her concern. 

"Nah, no worries, Doc. This ain't for him." Miguel informed her with a lazy wave. 

"He keeps saying that, and yet -- here he is." Ryan could hold his tongue with the best of them when he had to. You could only play people and manipulate them if you had a good idea which words would garner which reaction. 

He'd never really tried to manipulate Miguel before, so he hadn't been watching himself as much. Not beyond the general care, feeding, and caution about disrespecting someone so much you had to start worrying about catching a shank that he did with most guys in here he wasn't trying to mess with or use. 

Now, though. Adding 'I think he's got a crush on me' as some mild shit talk, which Ryan would have done in the past, would get him a different, unwanted result. It would push Alvarez away, make him bristle too much on the defensive. 

What he'd said was just enough, their own inside joke. 

Yep, Miguel rolled his eyes again, shaking his head. His usual combination of possible mild annoyance being beaten into submission by amusement on his face. They were fine. 

Christ, Ryan had just thought of Miguel Alvarez as part of his _they_. 

"Ahh, be careful with this one, Alvarez. He's a talker, and he will distract you from your work." Gloria was smiling this lovely little smile when she said it, sliding her gaze over to Ryan. 

Miguel, on the other hand, let out a derisive snort. It was still playful, though. 

"Quiet, _papi_. Go bathe the body while it's silent. Just how you like it." The grin Ryan said it with wasn't his sharp one meant to cut. It may have even been one of his rare ones. And what do you know? Ryan was wrong for once -- he would call Miguel papi, if only just to fuck with him. 

It got him a smile from Miguel, breaking out with a tumble of short low laughter. It was followed by an equally short string of Spanish, which even with that smile and general good humor Miguel delivered it with, Ryan could tell was probably pretty dirty and insulting. But he was kidding, and that was just as clear. 

Ryan got zero clues from Gloria's face as to what Alvarez may have said, given that she had a pretty impressive poker face when it came to all the smack talk and profanity that was usually hurled directly at _her_. So naturally, it being aimed at Ryan didn't shake her expression. 

"Now, that wasn't very nice, Alvarez." Ryan shot Gloria a conspiratorial sideways glance, lowering his voice a little like it was just for her. "Was it?" 

She shook her head, seeming in good humor, as well. "No, it wasn't. Not as bad as I usually hear, though." 

Her hand had left his arm a ways back in the conversation, once her concern had abated. But she was still standing close to his bed. 

Gloria was looking at Miguel again, though, as he set his tub on the end of Mr. Beepy's bed. Or more accurately, she was staring at his mouth. Ryan noticed, partially because he tried to notice everything happening in his vicinity unless he was pleasantly distracted (it took a lot to distract him, usually sex). And partially because it was maybe pissing him the hell off, he realized as the nasty kind of heat started eating at him, chest and gut. 

Before he could say something just as nasty as that feeling inside, Gloria switched to looking at Ryan's mouth, just as closely. 

Unfortunately, not for an interesting reason. Ryan put it together pretty quickly, given the obvious, and sadly dispassionate and investigative, staring. Popsicles. Even though they'd had them before his nap, their tongues were still interesting fading colors. He'd noticed Miguel's tongue being unnaturally red just a moment ago himself. 

"You had the popsicles I brought." She looked pleased for a second (which on her studious doctor face was merely the smallest hint of a closed mouth grin maybe turning up a tiny corner of her lovely mouth), before shifting to slightly irritated. She had such expressive eyes, despite mostly succeeding in keeping a generally serious and calm look on her face. At the moment, those eyes honed back in on Miguel, who admittedly also had very expressive eyes. They were trying to express complete innocence at the moment. "You also had one. Those weren't for the orderlies, Alvarez. I specifically instructed you--" 

Ryan could've stayed quietly out of it and watched Alvarez squirm. He even could've been extra unhelpful and acted upset, like he hadn't happily sucked down two popsicles, two days in a row, side by side with the man. 

He decided to do something else as rare as those frozen treats: he helped. "Nah, I said it was fine. He ate the flavor I can't fucking stand for me, Doc. No worries." 

"Yeah, Doc. Swear. He like begged me. I was helping." Miguel turned his attention back to them to plead his case. Fairly unconvincingly, but in that way when you knew you didn't _have_ to be convincing -- he had Ryan's word backing him up, after all -- so you didn't really expend the effort. 

"Uh-huh." That tone was also one Gloria had practiced in here, but it pretty much signaled she wasn't going to fight. 

"Seriously, they'd just go to waste." Ryan chimed in again. "Say thank you to the nice doctor for your popsicle, Alvarez." Ryan's tone was about as half as annoying as it could have been. 

It got him less than half the glare Miguel was capable of, with that face of his that was made for dark discontented expressions. And it only flickered over his face for a second, too, before he was looking at Gloria with that tugging sincerity thing he could also pull off pretty well. "Thanks, Doctor Nathan. I think they've really been helping. It was a really nice thing you did, you know, getting 'em." 

Yeah, that got her to give up completely. "Okay, Miguel. Popsicle time is over, back to work." 

He actually listened. Quickly. Gloria turned all her attention back to Ryan, peering thoughtfully at his face. Nah, he was wrong again. She was still a bit hesitant, she just didn't want to show it to Alvarez. Couldn't trust people in here when they said they weren't being messed with or taken advantage of, after all. They'd just fucking lie, if they were smart, to spare themselves further reprisals from whoever had fucked with them. 

Ryan locked onto her gaze, keeping his as soft as his quiet voice. "Really. I didn't fucking want that one, and this is a shit work detail. I figured why not let Alvarez have 'em. He's actually not total crap at his job." 

Now, maybe she believed exactly what he said, or maybe she just figured Ryan had used popsicles as a bribe or something, but it was clear Gloria realized now that he hadn't been taken advantage of. She lost that little bit of mostly carefully hidden tension. 

"Thank you." Ryan could do sincere, too. He could. He just didn't bother a lot of the time. Not like this. Not actually he meaning it and everything. "I appreciate them. They really do fucking help." 

She placed his hand over his, where it was resting on top of his covers. It was brief, and she removed it just as quickly. Just a reassurance or an acceptance of his gratitude. "I'm glad." 

He wanted to grab her hand back. Snatch that warmth for himself. The warmth in her eyes and carried by her touch. 

But he didn't. 

She hadn't kept her hand there, after all. Hadn't stayed. 

His gaze flicked over to Alvarez, who was dutifully bathing the fucker who must be comatose or on the best drugs, because he wasn't moving at all. It was like Miguel was manipulating a doll. He wasn't being sloppy or rough, though. Miguel did like his job. Must've liked, on some level, helping a little. Just because he complained, and hated being treated poorly, didn't change that, it seemed. 

He was also watching Ryan and Gloria, without being obvious about it. Yeah, man wasn't a Saint, buried urge to be helpful and useful or not. Ryan knew, from his own observation, that Miguel gathered a lot of information working in the ward. Ryan understood the urge and approved of the method. Information was helpful. Plus, Alvarez just seemed a little nosy. Sure, he'd seen the guy serious about his job, and tending to people with a patience Ryan didn't think he had, but he'd also seen Alvarez poke at sheets and pretend to be making a bed for fucking ever near where an interesting conversation was happening. 

Like now, apparently. Ryan didn't generally watch the other motherfuckers in here receive their baths, but dedication aside, Miguel did seem to be taking a lot of time wringing out that washcloth. 

Gloria was all business after that, and for once Ryan decided to give her a break and not delay her. They had a watcher, for one thing, but mostly -- she seemed busy that day. Fucking job could wear her thin -- she may have cared, but the ones doling out the resources and the paychecks? They didn't give a single fuck. Hell, even Alvarez, with his tiny bit of strange concern and work ethic, cared more than the motherfuckers in charge. Gloria had to shoulder a lot herself, and Ryan didn't want to make it worse today. 

After she hurried off, back through the swinging doors into a different part of this sea of shit, Alvarez stopped even pretending to not be paying attention. He was still actually working, though, talking to Ryan from his place across the aisle. This section was pretty quiet and empty. 

"See, I knew something was wrong with you. How can you hate cherry, man? That's unholy." Miguel dripped on himself again, with his adamant judgmental pointing. Didn't lick it off this time, thankfully. He merely ignored it. It was just soapy water, not artificial cherry. 

Ryan merely tilted his head quizzically, drawing out his words in a mockery of contemplation. "So vehicular manslaughter and say, assault, are fine for the pearly gates, but my taste in dessert is going to send me to hell? Good to know." Ryan was a smart ass just long enough, before giving in with a scoff. "Of course I like cherry, dumbass. I was being nice." 

Miguel let the name calling go, because it had no heat behind it, for his own questioning expression. "To me? For no reason? I ain't gonna owe you a favor for covering for a popsicle theft, O'Reily." 

"I know that." Ryan rolled his eyes, because seriously -- that was fucking obvious. 

"Oh." Miguel let the sound slip out, with a little pause punctuated by him plopping the washcloth back into the tub. Like maybe it hadn't been that obvious to him that Ryan meant it about being nice until just then. He shrugged just one shoulder, voice a little lower and more serious. "Well. I didn't know you liked them, too." He pinned Ryan with his gaze after that, though, and it carried a bit of that teasing light again. "I _might_ be nice and switch with you tomorrow." 

"You do owe me." Ryan said with his own lazy shrug. 

"Knew it. Nothing is free." Miguel complained very insincerely, with some pretty decent fake exasperation and everything, as he headed off. 

Almost. 

"Need anything, hermano?" Miguel paused his stride before he got too far. 

"Nope. All good. Go play nice with the numbnuts, Miguel." Ryan said, playfully waving him along. 

Ryan caught one last glimpse of a head-shaking bemused grin as Alvarez left. 

** 

Yeah, this place did have its fucking routines. But this one? Ryan didn't fucking mind at all, it turned out. The next day, Miguel slid right back over, around the same time a little more than halfway through his shift. Everything had been the same, but not in the usual crap way everything was in here. Same little half nod earlier, right at the start of work detail. Same glances when he passed Ryan, checking in. 

And yeah, Ryan had said yes again when Miguel came over looking for his popsicle break. _Their_ popsicle break. Jesus. 

Ryan didn't really need one today. He was starting to feel a bit better. Didn't fucking mean he wouldn't always take advantage of what was offered to him. Especially when he actually really wanted it. 

He unwrapped his popsicle as Miguel laid in the hospital bed next to his, back propped up in more of a sitting position like him. This was new though, and it sucked. 

Orange. 

Fucking orange. 

"You asshole. I should've ratted you out." Ryan shook his head, refraining from letting himself sound dangerously pissed, but still. This was bullshit. 

"What?" There were those innocent eyes again, as Miguel looked over at him, his popsicle still unwrapped. There was that familiar curiosity, too, though, which didn't track with this being a cruel dick move. 

"Orange, Alvarez. You gave me the crap flavor you don't want." Ryan explained harshly, shaking the damn thing at him a little. 

Yeah, those innocent eyes might not be lying this time. Miguel looked like he shared Ryan's displeasure. "Shit. Honest mistake." 

Ryan's snort wasn't entirely amused, but it wasn't without it either. 

"Seriously, man. Trick doesn't always work, and those two look similar through the wrapper. Done it to myself before." Miguel explained, actually sitting up even more to lean towards Ryan's bed. "Grape's the easy one to figure out. Here." He offered it without hesitation, mostly just seeming annoyed at himself for being wrong. 

"Gracias." Ryan definitely didn't hesitate to trade, either. But he was pleased, already tearing into -- yep, grape -- not mocking Miguel with the word. 

They settled in, one of them a little more grumpily than the other. Routine. Yeah. Talking between licking. Giving themselves a break from the cold. 

At least Miguel wasn't illustrating how well he'd maybe take to fellatio this time. No long savoring sucks disappearing between surprisingly full lips for a guy. No idle slurping, no enjoyment on his face, or long swipes of his tongue. He kept biting off pieces instead, making disgruntled expressions with every half-hearted lick and cold crunch between his teeth. He was devouring the thing faster than ever, but not out of pleasure. 

It wasn't at all stimulating, but it was pretty fucking entertaining anyway. 

He usually finished eating around the time Ryan did, but this time it took about half that long. 

And yet. 

There he stayed, despite being done. Miguel just continued lying nearby, as he spun the stick between his fingers, casually examining it -- probably sizing it up for possible weapon-making use -- between sideway glances at Ryan. 

"Jesus, you really hate orange, don't you?" Ryan observed, not bothering to keep the grin out of his voice, or his eyes, or off his face. None of his amusement was cloaked, by choice. 

"Ate it, didn't I?" Miguel shrugged, a lift of shoulders against the hospital bed's mattress that drug his scrubs up just a little. Not enough to expose his stomach, Ryan noted, because of course he did. (He wasn't dead. It repeated in his head in a different way this time. A grasping, hungry way. Wasn't dead, and didn't want to be. Wanted every last bit of life and warmth he could get his hands on.) 

"Still a popsicle." Miguel reasoned, spinning stick stilling to be set aside on the bedside table as he focused on Ryan. 

"Here, quit sulking." Ryan mixed his grumpy statement with a gesture that was anything but, sitting up straighter to hold out his remaining popsicle in offering. 

Alvarez sat right up, legs swinging around and off the bed so he could face Ryan, quick and easy. The man could move. He didn't reach out and take it, though. 

"It's yours, O'Reily. I'm not a dick. Ain't gonna snake your popsicle." The raised eyebrow indicated that maybe he thought Ryan was usually a dick, and was possibly wondering over this newly developed kindness. Didn't say anything about it, though. 

"It's barely a popsicle. It's mostly fucking stick. Just take the two damn bites before it drips on me. You make me sticky, I'll make you pay." Ryan was aware of the words he used, even if he wasn't saying them in a way that sounded like innuendo. He buried that shit more than six feet deep under his irritation. He was still keeping an eye on the word choice's effect on Alvarez, though. 

There wasn't much of one on Miguel's face, but his eyes left Ryan's to focus on their hands, where he was quickly grabbing the stick from Ryan, leaning to reach across the space between them again. Miguel's fingers were just a little bit sticky where they brushed his. 

"Gracias, hermano." The quick casual gratitude nonetheless sounded genuine in Miguel's slightly lowered voice. 

The remaining popsicle went right in that mouth, no hesitation, as Miguel turned the stick horizontally so he could suck the remaining bits clinging to the stick from the side. 

Okay, good to know. Miguel Alvarez was not twitchy about sharing spit. Ryan really had just been doing another rare thing, being nice. Mostly. 

"You do know I've had my mouth all over that for like ten minutes, right?" Ryan remarked, with his own eyebrow raised in bemusement. He'd still stripped all the suggestiveness out of it, leaving just a friendly taunting observation. 

Apparently, that had occurred to Miguel already and he didn't give a fuck, because he just shrugged again, legs not even stuttering in their idle swing. He only took his mouth off of the damn thing because he needed to speak, it looked like. "So? You've worked the kitchen -- I know the motherfuckers on that crew must spit in the fucking food sometimes. I have to live with that fact every damn day and just eat it anyway. That shit doesn't taste this good either. Besides, least I know exactly whose spit it is this time. You ain't contagious." 

It was refreshing to be around someone who wasn't a moron. Ryan was pretty sure some of the dumbfucks in here thought he _was_ contagious. 

"I've never spit in your food, Alvarez." Ryan calmly corrected him. This was in fact true. 

Miguel raised one eyebrow in amusement. "I figured. If _your_ ass fucked with my food I'd been in here or the morgue, huh, O'Reily? 

"No idea what you're talking about." Ryan used his blandest face and blandest voice. 

Alvarez was indeed more than just not a moron, though. He was clever. And he was not buying Ryan's act at all. Didn't mean Ryan was going to _drop_ it and admit to adding ground glass garnishes to a certain mook's meals, but it was good to know that Miguel knew. 

"Sure." Disbelief practically dripped from Miguel's expression and voice, much like the popsicle dripped a drop of purple sugar that ran an interesting lazy route over Miguel's slender fingers. 

Ryan knew what was going to happen, because he was pretty fucking clever, too. 

Alvarez shifted the stick to his other hand. And there was Miguel's tongue again, darting out to lick his fingers. Oh, look, he actually slurped one into his mouth briefly this time. To give it a quick suck. 

Ryan wasn't a twitchy person. Definitely not a fucking flincher. He pretty much had nerves of steel. It was fairly helpful at the moment. Alvarez seriously had zero self awareness about this shit. Unfortunately, it was likely that was because he was an arrow so straight and untouchable that it didn't even fucking occur to him to care how he looked. He could be oblivious merely because he didn't think that way. 

Ah, well. Just because Ryan was allowing himself to notice things, didn't mean he had to do anything about it. He still had this... whatever the fuck this was. Popsicles and bickering that wasn't fucking irritating. (And steady hands on him when he was weak.) 

"What exactly were you planning to do with the orange ones?" Ryan asked, as thankfully Miguel stopped fucking licking and sucking on himself again. "Give them to me anyway in one long string of suck?" 

"Nah, man. Of course not." Miguel scoffed with a gruff snort. "Am I that fucking cruel?" 

Ryan didn't even get his mouth open to reply. 

"Don't answer that, smart ass." Miguel stopped him, but it was with his sharp little grin. 

Ryan did in fact know that Alvarez was in here for cutting up some little old guy's face for scratching his car. But whatever cutting remark Ryan would have said, just to say it, he also wouldn't have actually believed it. Ryan observed every fucker in here that crossed his eye line, and he'd never thought of Alvarez as cruel. Many things, some of them not quite fitting with the others -- apparently beating the shit out of a hostage and then earnestly trying to get them medical treatment were good examples -- but cruel wasn't one of them. Ryan knew, even without it being whispered to him or spoken of afterwards, that Miguel would've had a reason for beating that hack. Wouldn't have been a sadistic whim, like it would've been with Ross. 

"Was gonna melt 'em under the faucet and save the sticks. One of the sinks in here gets really fucking hot. Then I can tell her you're out, and maybe she'll bring more." Alvarez explained his strangely thought out popsicle plans. 

Yeah, he had definitely been staring at that stick earlier wondering if it'd be useful for anything. Good for him. 

"Or you could sell them." Ryan offered. "I get a cut, of course." 

Miguel's grin got wider, just for second, before he continued to illuminate how much he'd thought it out. "Thought of that, too. Maybe. It'd be hard. They don't transport. Could only trade 'em to other guys in the ward--" 

"And one of these assholes sucking on them would be easily caught. Then you'd probably lose access to them." Ryan finished for him. 

"Exactly, baby." Miguel was either savoring, or too busy talking. There wasn't much popsicle left on that stick, but he was just giving it an idle swipe of his tongue every once in a while before it could drip, mostly focused on holding it carefully so it didn't fall _off_ the stick 

"Either way Gloria's just going to think I'm a popsicle pig who's plowing through them. Gee, thanks, Alvarez." 

"Hey, you're using them for like, medicinal purposes. She ain't gonna judge you for that. Besides, anybody could be stealing them." Miguel defended. 

"Like you. Again." Ryan pointed out, reminding Miguel he'd already gotten caught once. 

Alvarez was eyeballing him now, smirk playing on his lips. "You got a thing for her, don't you? _Gloria._ Even we call her Dr. Nathan, man." 

"She saved my fucking life." Ryan stated seriously. She wasn't just some hot chick. He wasn't just fucking horny or something. Both of those things may be true, but they didn't scratch the surface. 

"It's in her job description. She saves the Nazis and the rapists, too. And you know she hates their asses." Alvarez reasoned thoughtfully, before he was forced to focus on the rapidly diminished popsicle which was clinging on for dear life. 

"Fuck off, Alvarez." It wasn't as much as a warning as it would've been with, fuck, with anyone else. Ryan wasn't trying to chase Alvarez away this time. Still, his lack of understanding was grating. Not surprising, though. "You don't know what you're talking about. She's an amazing woman. You probably just want to bang her." 

"And you don't?" Miguel countered easily, but even he wasn't really teasing anymore. Like at least he understood enough to take this conversation with Ryan more seriously. "I get it, sort of. I mean, I don't have a fucking crush on her like this is the world's shittiest high school. This ain't the place for that shit, man." Miguel added, mildly, but it clearly summed up his narrow and incorrect thoughts on the subject. Ryan didn't agree, but he wasn't in the mood to argue, either. Especially when brown eyes turned more serious still, as Miguel got honest. "But I like working with her. She cares. Like for fucking real." 

She did. How had Alvarez learned that? Did she show it to him, too? Make him feel this way? The man had been laid up for a few long stretches, what with the shanking, face slashing, and the shooting. (Fucker had nine lives, it was looking like. Even when he was the one being careless with them.) But no, he wasn't acting like he felt anything for her. Didn't seem to consider it a possibility. Was it just something he gleaned from watching her work? Her kind heart and steady hands? 

Alvarez had his own steady hands. His heart was very fucking different, though. Ryan didn't fully understand it, even. He wasn't generally kind. But he could be, when he wanted to be, it seemed. He could be brutal. He could be thoughtful. The shit with his kid had broken him so thoroughly, he'd cut through the face he was so proud of. He'd led during the riot and had zero fucking love for the hacks, but he'd tried to save them because he thought it was the right thing. He did plenty of very wrong fucking things, so what was with the urge to do a right one at such an inconvenient time? He was a little like Ryan, but then he wasn't. More like Ryan than Gloria was. But then here he was still, at Ryan's side when he was low. Didn't mean he cared. That was the least likely possibility, actually. Could be looking for allies. Could just be bored. Or lonely. 

He wasn't like Gloria. (Neither was Ryan.) 

But Ryan had liked the way those steady hands felt on him. He'd _felt_ something. The body didn't lie and reason like the mind did. And yeah, if Ryan allowed himself to notice anyone with a dick... Miguel's light thin scar, starting near the corner of his mouth and flowing up his cheek, didn't really detract from the man's looks. Those dark eyes that drew you in, and a mouth more tempting than a thin dry line. Calling it a pout would probably earn whoever was dumb enough to say that a punch, but yeah. Unfinished tattoos on his skin, calloused fingers (Ryan had felt them, light on his scalp), muscles carved with sweat and time on a body that moved with a grace that joined his occasional savagery. Fuck. Ryan noticed, couldn't stop noticing now. 

"You're stealing her popsicles." Ryan's accusation didn't really sound like one. Might've been the amused smirk he delivered it with. 

Miguel huffed out another hint of laughter. "Ain't all I'm stealing." 

"Why, Miguel Alvarez -- are you making a jailhouse confession to me?" Ryan asked with narrowed eyes, pretending he was trying to get something on the man. 

"I know you already know that." Miguel reasoned, those dark eyes sparkling again with rare light. It _was_ rare in here, Ryan finally realized. But he kept seeing it over these few days in Miguel. "Besides, they're yours and you're sharing." 

Miguel also seemed to understand a little how Ryan operated, and how his mind worked. And he seemed to actually fucking like it, something a little like respect or appreciation hiding there in his words sometimes 

"Yeah. Fuck knows why." Ryan acted like he was disgruntled about it, rubbing his head back against his pillow again with a soft exhale that was also almost laughter. 

"Told you, baby, I'm charming." Miguel winked as he caught the last chunk of grape in his mouth as it finally fell off the stick. It wasn't anywhere near a knowing taunt that was insinuating anything, because then Ryan would've had to shut him down. (Had to be careful and slow, after all.) It was just Miguel -- teasing and showing off. He may have dialed it back, even before the riot, but it was still there. 

Seriously, Ryan was pretty sure Miguel was carrying around some shit he wasn't acknowledging. Otherwise, why in the hell would he say shit like that so much? Again, it could be the opposite reason still -- it was so fucking far from an option he considered that he didn't give any thought to how he sounded. 

Then he licked the fucking stick, one long vertical swipe of his tongue to get all the sugary traces off. 

Jesus. 

If everything else in here, and in his own body, didn't kill Ryan, this motherfucker might. 

*** 

End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Rambles: Why, yes. I did make Ryan secretly into guys the whole time again. One could always _believe_ him without question when he says he's straight, but -- dude also lies. A lot. And liking dudes is a perceived weakness in Oz, and probably in his own life given his horrifying dad.
> 
> Also, his shift from Extreme Denial over how Miguel's kindness and touching makes him feel in ["Buzzcut Season"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26319052) to where he is here: it's been a couple of days since we've been in his head. Days in which he's been feeling physically like crap, scared, and now alone with nothing but time to think. Some of his brief not-alone time was spent sitting next to Miguel while the man was being charming, friendly, and **sucking on things** and licking his own skin. So. Well. Ryan moved past denial pretty fast. Extreme circumstances and all.


End file.
